The Halfa Project
by Son of Zeus0001
Summary: The war between ghosts and humans has been raging for as long as anyone can remember. When a desperate team of scientists tries to provide a solution, and fails, who will pay the price? Heroism isn't the ability to do great things. It's the strength of character to stand up for what's right, even when it means losing everything. Rated M for stuff that will happen in later chapters.
1. GIW File

**AN: Hi! So, this is my first story(that I'm willing to let people read). It starts off with a look at an in-world government document that explains the AU(because it IS AU) to the reader. It is an idea that I've had for about a week that just refuses to leave me alone. I would love some Constructive Criticism if you guys would be willing to provide it. Also, just to warn you: Updates will be slow. I'll try to update on June 20th(my 20th birthday coincidentally) if I can, but no promises(I have two Sociology tests that day).**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Danny Phantom, Phantom Planet and season three wouldn't have happened(Just saying!).**

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**The Phantom Project:**

**G.I.W. File #4729561A:**

**File Type: Sub A24-CX19-V27-M(Secret Legal Historical Record Document)**

**Note: The following file was considered clearance level W4(for the eyes of senior agents of the GIW, Those whom the document directly concerns, and government officials of the House of Law only) until recent events forced the hand of the GIW and House of Law to repeal said clearance and issue mandatory orders for all active agents to read the file. As such, all blacked out information has been revealed so that agents would be able to comprehend the contents of the file. It has now been moved to Classification R10.**

The Phantom project was first proposed on July 18, 1999 by Madeline Ashley Jane Farshaw(Head of research at GIW Base: White Fox 15 – Location: The Amity Valley, Southern Minnesota) as a theoretically possible defense measure against the Ghost armies. The project's conception was a culmination of ideas and theories about ecto-physics and biology taken from a variety of occasionally questionable sources. Among these sources were the researchers Alexander Mathias Simon(License revoked for experimental testing of Ghost ENA in the human system in 1897) and Jason Drake Smith(Forbidden from ever participating in any official scientific endeavor after the disastrous Ectoranium infusion cancer cure of 1993 – Terminated the following year by Agent Z for the illegal use of ENA to encourage tissue regeneration in animals). These sources presented a very frightening – if effective – possible countermeasure to Pariah's bloodthirsty campaign of conquest.

The concept could be boiled down to a simple idea – the mixture of human DNA with Ghost ENA through the use of genetic splicing and other methods. Through the use of genetic splicing and other procedures that we are not at liberty to reveal in a Sub-level A24-CX19-V27-M file, the scientists would create a Half-Ghost or "Halfa" as they were later titled by one of Madeline's partners in the conception and later execution of the project(and even later husband) Jack Johnson Fenton.

The project was stalled by critics and members of the "Pure Human Life" group, who found the concept of using ENA to create a group of what were basically super-soldiers distasteful. There was a legal hearing scheduled during the summer of 2005 to discuss the ethical ramifications of the project, which would be taking a number of humans and sentencing them to a fate worse than murder. Other critics cried out that the effect of the ENA would corrupt and eventually override the human half – causing the "Halfas" to turn upon their creators and side with Pariah's already frightening. Still others stated that the mental and physical effects of the ENA would be catastrophic when paired with human DNA. One man was quoted as saying that "These soldiers that would be created would be sub-human at best. They would obviously not be capable of thought processes equaling or even coming close to that of humans. The ENA would destroy any semblance of free will and mental capacity that they would possess. Are we really going to create such beings to defend us if they would be so easily influenced by others?" We are not at liberty to say who made this statement, but it was one of many similar claims made in the defense of the "Pure Human Life" group's point of view.

Eventually however, there came a time when humanity had few options left. The war was draining resources at a catastrophic rate. People gave into the base emotion of fear. And, the project was set into motion under the now Madeline Ashley Jane Fenton(Previously Madeline Ashley Jane Farshaw)'s oversight. Several top scientists were assigned to the project, funded by the Manson family(Third among the Houses of Law).

The first "Halfa" procedure preformed was on Vladimir Nathan Masters(Second Lead of the Halfa Project). Vladimir was the heir to the Masters family(Fourth among the Houses of Law) and a very intelligent man. He was the one who originally discovered the process by which ENA and DNA could be combined – through notations made by other scientists.

But, the project did not go as planned. When the scientists finished the genetic manipulation required to create the first "Halfa" something went wrong. Whether it was a synapse that had been cut wrong, or two genes that were not meant to go together, the ENA overpowered the original DNA of Vladimir Masters and created a monster.

Research revealed that, once past a certain stage of development, the human DNA would not bond properly to the Ghost ENA. This was what happened with Vladimir. So, spurred by the ridicule and a desire to prove their theories correct, Madeline and her team continued to research and develop the program – even after Vladimir's escape and against the wishes of many of the Houses of Law.

The scientists quickly found DNA samples from humans – through either discrete payments or legal duty. The ENA samples were less easy to come by, though they were eventually obtained from a variety of surprising sources. Among these unwilling donors were Pariah Dark himself, Clockwork(Advisor to the High King, Pariah), and several lieutenants and high ranking officers in Pariah's armies. These were - of course - all obtained in the middle of battles. A snatch and grab tactic proved futile.

Once the samples were obtained and delivered the scientists at GIW Base: White Fox 15, the project could finally be set in motion – though some deemed it unnecessary with the passing of the archaic methods of anti-ecto-warfare(Salt and the other mysticisms) and the introduction of what some unknown scientist labeled Ghost-tech(despite its non-related status to ghosts for anything more than using ectoplasm as a power source).

The project team began the development of the "Halfas" on November 18, 2009. There were a total of One-hundred-and-fifty-seven potential "Halfas" in the beginning. Before genetic manipulation had concluded, over eighty had died, leaving only seventy-three remaining potential "Halfas" in incubation. Over thirty died in the first two weeks of the incubation process, leaving forty-one as yet unharmed potential "Halfa" super-soldiers. Disaster struck six months into the incubation process(one month before they would normally be "born" if they had been conceived in the traditional way). This calamity left a total of Seven unharmed potential "Halfas" to finish out the incubation process.

The first year was difficult, as the ENA and DNA regulated and fought for dominance. One of the "children" was not strong enough, and did not survive the year. The others however survived – if not in the expected way. Once it was determined "safe" or "non-lethal" to input tracking chips into the "Halfas" the scientists did so, arming the chips to include a White Fang Inducer or – to use a street term – kill switch. This was a safety measure included to make absolutely certain that – even if the "Halfas" turned against humanity – they would not be able to do much before they were terminated.

Unfortunately, the project was a failure. The ENA gradually vanished for no apparent reason. The only theory proposed was that the DNA had somehow overpowered it and extrapolated what its remaining fragments should be. This theory is misleading, because it implies that the ENA had no effect. However, if that were the case, the human DNA would not have been able of extrapolation and allow the creation of its missing fragments. Thus, leaving a confusing mystery that implies that the ENA allowed for its own destruction. This, is unlikely in the extreme, knowing what we do about ENA, ghosts, and their natures.

After the failure of the project, and its termination, the six remaining "Halfas" were assigned parental figures to watch over them in the unlikely case that their ENA re-asserted itself. Of the remaining six "Halfas" there were four females and two male. As the lead scientists Madeline and Jack Fenton were assigned Projects H-1(one of the remaining males), H-2(The twin female of H-1), and H-4(one of the remaining females). The Manson family was assigned one of these "Halfas" as well – Project H-3 – Because the egg was gathered from one of their house's members. The last female(H-5) was given to a low ranking labor family who served the Sanchez house(Second among the Houses of Law). The final remaining "Halfa" was placed under the watch of a Law Keeper and his wife, who had – and still have – no knowledge of the project's existence. They were told that the boy was an orphan who had lost his parents in the war, and that the government had their eye on the boy incase he showed any promise like his other family had.

To further disguise the failure of the program, each "Halfa" was given an amount of HGH(Human Growth Hormone) that resulted in a slightly varied physical age for each of the unknowing subjects. This allowed the sudden appearance of several families to go relatively unnoticed by the population, and allowed for the memory of the project to descend into the history books as a minor upset in the war.

The "families" of these "Halfas" were distributed through the town of Amity Park, a small town on the very edge of the Republic in the Amity Valley. Agents were assigned to watch over them, and if necessary, terminate the "Halfas" and their guardians. Yearly reports on the Halfas' well-being and development were required, including the disclosure of any information in regards to their less than human halves. In return the families would receive a stipend roughly equal to that of a lower-middle-class family.

**Note: One Might find references to the "Halfa" project in text books used in High School history classes. This is a reference to The Phantom Projects, using the name that slipped through security proximately two years into the project.**

**Complete list of Halfas that survived:**

**Project H-1:**

**Personal Tracking** Number**:** E2790

**Given Name:** Daniel James Fenton

**Human Donor:** Elisabeth Anne Fenton(Jack Johnson Fenton's second youngest sister and a member of the House of the Valiant - An elite group reserved for war heroes who have gone far above and beyond the call of duty in their service to the Republic)

**Ghost Donor: **Pariah Dark(The High King of all Ghosts)

**Capabilities: ** Unknown, should be treated as extremely dangerous

**Project H-2:**

**Personal Tracking Number****:** E2791

**Given Name: **Danielle Anne Fenton

**Human Donor:** Elisabeth Anne Fenton(See Project H-1's profile)

**Ghost Donor: **Pariah Dark(See Project H-1's profile)

**Capabilities: ** Unknown, should be treated as extremely dangerous

**Project H-3:**

**Personal Tracking Number:** G2119

**Given Name: **Samantha Lilith Manson

**Human Donor: **Susan Cindane Manson(I miner member of The Third House of Law, sixty-eighth in line for the Third Seat of Law in the Republic Senate)

**Ghost Donor:** Undergrowth(One of the so called "Ancients" who appear to be something akin to a feudal lord)

**Capabilities: ** Unknown, should be treated as extremely dangerous

**Project H-4:**

**Personal Tracking Number:** M4198

**Given Name: **Jasmine Ashley Fenton

**Human Donor:** Sarah Alexis Parker(An analyst who had not added to the next generation)

**Ghost Donor:** Clockwork(First Advisor to the High King of all Ghosts)

**Capabilities: ** Unknown, should be treated as extremely dangerous

**Project H-5:**

**Personal Tracking Number: **C8271

**Given Name: **Star Light

**Human Donor:** Rachel Elisabeth Cassidy(A soldier in the GIW militia forces who had not yet added to the next generation)

**Ghost Donor:** Nocturn(Head of Spies for the High King of All Ghosts)

**Capabilities: ** Unknown, should be treated as extremely dangerous

**Project H-6:  
**

**Personal Tracking Number: **W3794

**Given Name: **Tucker Foley

**Human Donor: **Saline Marissa Sanders(Eighty-fourth in line for the Fifth Seat of Law in the Republic Senate)

**Ghost Donor: **Technus(One of Pariah Dark's lieutenants)

**Capabilities: ** Unknown, should be treated as extremely dangerous

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**AN: So, what did you think? **


	2. The File: Part One

**AN: Hello to all of you fine readers out there! This isn't really an update. I just fixed some of the spelling and grammar mistakes, and changed some words around to give off more of the mood that I wanted for the story. But, feel free to reread it anyway if you want. I wont complain.  
**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Danny Phantom, I probably wouldn't be writing fan fiction for it, would I? Okay, maybe I would. But, the point is, I(sadly) don't own it.  
**

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**Unknown Location, Ghost Zone:**

Nocturn stood on a chunk of granite, floating in the void that humans now called the Ghost Zone. The corrupt husk that remained of a once prosperous and great empire. The ancient Greek culture had called it Elysium once. Now… now the only times it was mentioned were in boardroom meetings and hushed and fearful tones. The void – once shining and radiant – was now black as night, with the occasional sickly green swirl of ectoplasm drifting through it.

The veil – the barrier between the human world and that of the "Ghost Zone" – was thin here. Nocturn marveled at how fragile it must be. It was like a curtain, a fold of silk, rather than the wall of reinforced concrete that it should be. It was easy to cross over here, where the war had ravaged both kingdoms.

Nocturn sighed and ran a hand through his hair, letting the shadows flow up around him – engulfing his humanoid form in darkness. It was necessary if he wanted to cross over at this time of day – when the sun was high in the skies of the human world.

The sun. Fire. It was a purifying force like no other. The primitives had figured that out from day one. It had been used for countless paranoia driven excursions into insanity during the crusades and at Salem. Sure, there had been witches and sorcerers, but they had died out years before the humans had become aware of their presence. And, sure, ghosts _could _overshadow humans. But, why would they want to? The bodies of the humans were so… confining was the best word he could come up with. It was like limiting one's self awareness to a single location. Not natural.

Nocturn sighed, shaking his head in frustration. He was getting sidetracked. He was not here to ponder on the insanity of humans. He had a duty to his king. Few understood what it truly meant to be an Ancient, to wield the powers that they did. It meant loyalty. It meant honor. Yes, it meant privilege and power. But, that was secondary at best. It meant purpose. There was no definition capable of giving one an impression of the true meaning of the title. One had to _be _an Ancient to know and understand it.

The humans saw them as particularly powerful spirits, lords among the ghostly political court. To an extent, that was true. But it did not approach the truth in full. Loyalty to the king above all else was required, for the task of the Ancient was to uphold the honor of the Empire and its people. Their task – No – their privilege was to serve.

The Ancient of shadows and dreams, the Master of Spies for The High King of all Ghsots, raised his hand, pushing a piece of his essence into separation. It manifested as a boiling mass of darkness before him. Humans would have probably called it nauseating to observe. But, to him, only beauty could be found in the twisting ribbons of darkness. He extended his shadow, covering it so that it would not dissipate under the light of the sun. This had to be done carefully, cautiously, or the effort would be wasted and he would have to wait for potential decades to regain the presence he had expended.

He willed it forward, through the veil separating the two worlds.

The change in perception was immediate. Light. Touch. Scent. All of these assaulted the portion of the Ancient's mind dedicated to the fragment of himself, now located on the other plane. The lesser of these two portions of his presence – there were twelve in total, scattered throughout the two planes of existence – was in a room. He could feel the bright overhead lights like spears of flame attempting to pierce the shroud he had conjured into existence.

He reacted on instinct, calling forth hellfire from the Void. The emerald flames danced at the edges of his lesser presence before engulfing the "Florescent lights" a moment later. The room was plunged into darkness, once again offering some peace from the harsh lights that that pained him.

The relief was short lived as vibrations ran through the ground announced the approach of humans. Once again he acted, though this time it was not out of instinct, but trained caution. Reaching once more into the Void that was the gift granted him as an Ancient, he faded from the visible spectrum. It was important he not be discovered. He was not a warrior, nor a soldier. He was not meant for fighting. Stealth, deception, darkness, these were his strengths.

The urge to call forth more hellfire and eliminate the humans was strong as they entered the room. But, he reminded himself, there was no purpose. Humans were disturbingly fragile creatures. Misguided in many things, but that did not mean he should expend more energy than he had to. He did not enjoy killing as some did. But, he supposed, that was one of the reasons he had been chosen to bare the title of Ancient.

"What the hell?" he interpreted the vibrations as one human spoke. the vibrations sounded female. That finalized any thoughts he might have had on the subject of disposing of them. He would not harm a female, though humans seemed to have no such compunctions. They sent females into battle, and destroyed them when they were bold enough to strike at the Ghost Zone itself. For that he hated them. But, he would not put himself on their level.

He sought around for a clue as to which direction he was to travel. The humans stood in the center of the room, lined up in confusion he assumed. One of them was fiddling with some object that send vibrations through the air. There was a gap in the wall about ten feet beyond them. The door.

He willed his lesser presence forward, lifting it above the humans as to avoid drawing their attention. The air was cold, like that of a cavern in the far north of the Ghost Zone. He was in a laboratory. The right place.

Few now a days possessed the talent to open the veil and slip through. Even fewer possessed the ability to decipher where they would emerge on the human plane. He, as one of the Ancients, was one of these. He, as one of the Ancients, drew power from the Void itself. True, he was not Pariah. He could not draw upon the full might of the Void.

He could only draw a trickle. But, it was more than enough to place him on an equal footing with the lesser Spirits as far as brute power went. And he, unlike most of them, was well aware of his limitations and strengths. He was not a fighter. He never would be, no matter how much of the Void he was allowed to draw upon. But, he did not need to be. His reputation – or lack there of – spoke for itself as to his capability as Master of Spies.

Vibrations rang through the air. A human shout. Nocturn focused on the vibrations, deciphering the strange human language once again. "… ghost is present! Lock down the building! How the Fuck did the bastards get in here? The shield…" He did not need to hear more. His time was limited. Though, he did allow himself a small amount of satisfaction at their terror. Let them wonder how he had gotten past their shield. It would cause countless headaches for them, and only benefit the Empire in the long run.

As he rounded a corner several humans in white suits hurried past. They held weapons. Not the silver blades of the olden days, or pouches of salt. They held the new weapons. The weapons that had elevated humans from a minor annoyance to a potential threat. Weapons – guns he had heard them called – forged from silver. He could not touch them. He could feel the presence of his brethren. The humming vibration of frozen cold that signified ghosts were near. He pitied the creatures, trapped within the silver weapons of pain and used as _power sources_ to _defend_ humans.

He whipped out several tendrils of his shadowy presence to contact their skin. He made contact. He acted, calling upon his own power and mixing it with the might of the Void. He blended the two forces, mingling their essence as he fed it through his contact with their flesh.

_A dark room surrounded him. he could not feel. he floated in empty blackness. His weapons were gone. He was a prisoner of the Ghost freaks who infested the world. Pain engulfed him as emerald flames tickled his exposed skin. A dark voice rasped and whispered cruel nothings in his ear. A burning pain carved into his back. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six lines of searing agony as they burned their cursed slave brand into his back. Tears of horrified wonder ran down his face. Despair. He was lost to his own kind forever. He was a slave. He would serve them or die. His own kind would not accept him now… now that he bore the mark._

_He surfaced in a cavern. The air was cold. So cold. Frost formed on his head as he desperately tried to call air to his lungs. A hand grabbed his head. Bone grated against his scalp as he was forced back under. Air. He needed air. He couldn't breath. He was dying. He was becoming… No! He refused to become that which he hated. Air. He needed air. Air…_

_The tongues of flame coiled their way around his arms, their searing pain almost reaching the point of ecstasy. He could hear someone screaming as the pain overrode his mind and turned his world red. His throat was raw. It hurt to breath. He couldn't breath. He was screaming. Pain. He was marked. He could feel the lines on his back as yet more flames lashed playfully at his now exposed skin. When had his suit, so white and unmarred by dirt or grime, been burnt away by the heat? He didn't know._

_She could hear the creatures footfalls as it approached. Her breath came quickly. She was cornered. She was trapped. She had no weapons. Jason was dead. The thing was speaking, its voice a horrible growling whisper. It taunted her. It –_

Nocturn flung his lesser essence away. Disgust at what he had done churned through his core as he absorbed the fact that he had just induced a nightmare upon a female. The concept horrified him. He had never harmed a female. True, it was not what most would consider harm. But he knew the true terror of nightmares. They were his domain, a portion of his power and legacy. Psychologically she would be hurting for some time.

But, he had a mission. He had been set this task by Pariah himself. He could not fail in that. He would atone for what he had done later. He would speak with Clockwork or Pariah to discuss possible punishments. But for now, he could not worry about that. He had to succeed in his duty to the Empire.

Nocturn summoned forth his mental map of the complex. They were all largely the same. Humans had a strange tendency to prefer order and stability when it came to their military outposts. They always had people focused on one task, no matter how unnatural that was.

The records room. Yes. It was through that door. The chamber's location was always the same in a human construction.

He willed his lesser presence forward, disregarding the humans now crumpled on the floor. He could feel wet spots as he passed over the smooth man-made material. They were crying, weeping openly. Even if the nightmares had not been based on reality, he did his work well when crafting them, using the humans' own fears to construct true horrors for them. Slave brands? Was that honestly how humans saw them? A splash of guilt swirled through his core as he entered the chamber and started to search through the files.

Few seemed of any import. Either that, or they had already been located, copied, and read by his people. He discarded file after file, searching for _anything _of potential value. The search was an extended one, with only one fragment of his presence on hand to serve as the gatherer of information.

Nocturn grimaced in anger as he discarded the hundredth file. Nothing. He had found nothing in the waste heap of a GIW base. It was disgusting. After all that effort and expended power… nothing? He refused to allow such failure.

He lashed one of the dark tentacles connected to his lesser essence in irritation, striking a book shelf. He lurched back, toppling several documents as he regained his composure. It burned. That sharp, hot pain of silver now tingled through his form. He reached for the power of the Void, trying to banish the pain. But no, it was silver. Not even the void would shield him from that pain.

Something brushed against his presence as he writhed on the floor, tendrils of darkness lashing out in mild frustrated swipes. It felt… heavy. Something uncommon in an object of such size, and crafted from materials a fibrous origin. Picking it up he scanned the documents. For it was a file, one that he had missed previously.

His concentration slipped as read. An emotion he could not define mixed with his presence. Something he had never felt before. Something… alien to him. Something that he could not define, much like the honor of being one of the Ancients… but different. It stole through him like a wild fire.

Then, came the anger. The outrage that the humans would dare attempt something this… this… horrifying. They had no right to do something like this. None. He would see to it that they burned for their crimes. If he had to shove the file down Pariah's throat himself, he would. But, they would pay for the atrocity that they had committed.

Nocturn drew his presence back through the veil.

**Unknown Location, Amity Park:**

"Report." The mans voice crackled through the two-way holographic communications terminal. The roughness of the speakers gave it a scratchy, unpleasant quality that the room's only occupant found somewhat annoying, though not unbearable by any means.

The red-haired woman brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, clearing it out of her line of vision. "Danny –"

"Project H-1" the man's voice grated through the speakers. His face drew into an angry expression. His eyebrows tilted in a glare.

Madeline Fenton nodded in acquiescence. "Forgive me Overseer. You live with someone for years, you tend to start referring to them by their name unconsciously."

The man's glare sharpened, his brow furrowing even more. "He is not a person Madeline. You would do well to remember that. _It _isn't human, and neither are _they_. Now, report."

Madeline nodded her head hesitantly. It was not good for one's health to anger an Overseer of the GIW. She had held that title once. Now she was a clearance level W5 scientist in charge of watching over a failed experiment so others didn't have to. But, she remembered what it was like to hold the title of Overseer. "Yes sir." She cleared her throat, glancing down at the stack of papers held tightly in her grasp before continuing. "Project H-1 and H-2 have reached a physical age of fourteen. They have not displayed any less than human traits as of yet – though they do have an almost inhuman ability to recover from injuries rapidly. I have not tested the extent of this unique trait."

The man raised a challenging eyebrow, frowning. He almost seemed concerned. "And, why exactly, have you not tested this particular _talent _of theirs?"

Madeline forced herself to avoid recoiling in fear at the venom in the man's voice. Calm. Cool. Controlled. She forced her features into a state of scientific detachment as she replied. "You have never raised children, have you sir?"

The man's fist vanished from view and she heard a sharp crash as he roared in outrage. "I do not see how that has _anything_ to do with the matter at hand! THEY ARE NOT _CHILDREN!_ They are abominations that should never have been aloud to exist! No matter what the reason!"

Madeline flinched back. It wasn't the first time she'd been on the receiving end of one of these tirades. Though, the last time it had happened, the hologram had thankfully short-circuited, cutting off her monthly report before things grew too loud. "Sir…"

The man's eyes flashed dangerously. "_What_?"

Madeline took a deep breath, preparing herself for the oncoming outrage. "The question is relevant. Ple –"

The man cut her off dismissively. "You have ten seconds. Make it good, or I'll order their termination myself."

Madeline nodded frantically. "Yes sir."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm waiting Madeline. Make this worth my time or you will find yourself as a Classification R8 before the day is out."

Madeline paled slightly. R8 was reserved for those who had – in the words of her previous boss – Fucked up so badly that letting their blood boil in a vacuum would be more pleasant than their actual jobs. "Please, answer my previous question."

The man's eyebrow lifted a little higher.

"Sir… it is relevant. Please answer the question. Have you ever raised children?" Madeline fidgeted with the strand of hair from earlier. It had fallen back into its usual place in front of her vision. This was a potentially dangerous situation. Not just for her, but for everyone involved with that damned project. Why the senate or even one of the Houses of Law had agreed to allow it, she had never understood. Though, it probably made perfect sense to her when she had presented the concept to them.

He let out a frustrated breath. "I don't see how it is relevant, but no, I have never raised children. My position exempts me from that duty."

Madeline nodded in thought. How to explain? "They are not children. They are not human. But, they believe that they are. They believe that they are human. They aren't. But, they _believe_ that they are."

The man frowned. "Your point? They aren't children. Why don't you just run your tests and get it over with?"

Madeline grimaced. "Our dilemma is that such tests require a rather large sampling of their DNA material. I, as their mother figure, am unable to acquire the required material. There are laws in place preventing such things thanks to the Pure Human Life group. Besides, mothers do not do that to their human children."

The man looked outraged. "But they aren't _human! _The laws don't apply to them!"

Madeline shrugged. It was time to switch tactics. A "mother figure morals" argument wouldn't work here. He had never raised children. He wouldn't understand what it was like to do so, or that mothers just didn't perform advanced scientific tests on their charges.

"That is pretty much up in the air at this point sir. The ENA vanished within the first two years of their existence. As far as our technology is capable of figuring out, their DNA _is_ human, even if the projects are not. That gives them technical protection under the laws that were set in place."

There was silence for a moment as the man observed her through the hologram. She shifted nervously. The man's eyes were cold when he finally spoke, leaving no mistake as to his intended message. "You are very aware of the limitations."

Translation: Get it done before I have you replaced with someone who will. We don't have the time to deal with technicalities.

It was understandable, even commendable given the gravity of the situation. They were at war. They needed people who could get things done. They were in dire straights. Food was short. The silver mines in Alaska, New Mexico, and China had run dry. Salt was all but suicidal to obtain when one had to travel outside the protection of the shield to obtain it. Sure, they had the shields and power, but humanity was at the razor's edge.

Madeline sighed dejectedly. "I am."

Translation: Yes sir.

The man nodded and turned his head – probably to look at another screen. "And what of project H-4? How is it progressing?"

Madeline sighed. She had wondered when it would come to this. "Project H-4 has reached a physical age of sixteen. She does not appear to have the same almost miraculous healing capabilities as H-1 and H-2, or at least not to the same extent. But, mentally she is… scary."

"How so?" The man's voice was flat as he posed the question.

Madeline shifted, once more uncomfortable under her superior's scrutiny. "Her mental capabilities far exceed anything we've seen. I gave her the Standard Assessment Test last weak. She finished it in an hour with a score of ninety-four percent."

The man stared, horror obvious in his features. "An hour? Ninety-four percent?"

Madeline nodded, understanding his horror. It had been quite the shock when Jasmine – H-4 – had completed the entire assessment test in half the time that was usually allowed. Much less, her score had been something that was practically unheard of. There had been a girl in China who had achieved a similar score. And, there were rumors of a pair of twins in what had been Mexico. Then there were those on record. Five individuals in the last fifty years had achieved such scores. And most of them had used the full time.

There was a long silence in which the man stared at a screen that Madeline couldn't see. She could feel her arms crawling with goose bumps, warning her of some new horror. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she did. Something was going to happen.

The man swallowed several times before turning back to her with a stony expression on his face. "I am required to ask: Are they sexually fertile or do they show inclinations towards such behaviors?"

Madeline paled at the prospect. Horrifying images and possibilities raced through her mind's eye at the mere notion of such a thing. A possibility for more abominations? The mere thought sickened her. "We have no acceptable way of testing their… inclinations."

The man frowned. "Elaborate."

Madeline cleared her throat, deciding to be blunt. "Would you offer up a girl to H-1 in order to test such a possibility? Or a male to H-2 and H-4?" She shook her head at the horrible possibilities such actions would potentially put into motion. "Or a male for H-1, or females for H-2 and H-4 if they so preferred? Would you permit a human to go through that?"

The man licked his lips nervously. "Point taken Mrs. Fenton."

She nodded, pushing the horrifying images out of her mind. That was part of being a scientist. The ability to remove one's self from the work and look at the bigger picture, to see the implications and possibilities. "Is there anything else sir?"

The man glanced away again, frowning at the unseen screen before glancing back at her. "Yes actually. Have you made any progress on the Soul Shredder that we sent for examination?"

Soul Shredder. The words sent a lance of instinctive disgust and fear shooting through Madeline. The Soul Shredders. There were legends about them. There were stories from the front lines. The nightmare blades of Pariah's generals. Myth and story and even song spoke of their horrors. Few humans had survived an encounter with the dead blades. Humanity had captured several however, all of which they had turned against Pariah's forces and rained eternal oblivion down upon the monstrous incarnations of the damned.

Madeline shook her head dejectedly. "We haven't found the proper ecto-signature to access the blade's power yet. We're working on it, but I doubt we'll figure it out in the next month. It will probably be ready for use by November."

The man grimaced, but nodded in acquiescence. Lines appeared around his eyes. "Make it October Madeline. We do not have enough weapons against them as it is. We need every advantage we can get." There was an unspoken concern in his voice, a worry so deeply hidden that she almost hadn't noticed it. But Madeline had.

"Sir, may I inquire as to what has happened?"

The man grimaced, but nodded. "The knowledge will be common enough soon anyways…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Erik Olding and Caroline Simms died on the battlefield two days ago. I take it I don't have to explain who they are?"

Madeline shook her head, extremely disturbed by the news. "No sir."

The two in question were skilled warriors, part of The Second House of Law's military force, and the were wielders of two of the acquired Soul Shredders. They had a reputation for being able to "Get in there and kill the dead like they hadn't eaten shit for lunch." The saying didn't make much sense to Madeline, but it got the point across. They were good, very good. And now, they were dead.

Madeline took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she absorbed the information. "We shall redouble our efforts to find a matching ecto-signature, and get the blade to the Manson family's forces as soon as possible."

The man nodded and disconnected the communications link. The hologram disappeared, leaving Madeline in a dark room, alone with her thoughts. She didn't like it.

**6****th**** Street, Amity Park:**

Danny grinned at the thought of the envelope hidden under his shirt as he absently scratched at the itchy spot on his right forearm. He was still amazed at how easy it had been to obtain. The girl whom he had gotten it from hadn't even checked the mailing records before handing it to him.

She had been rather pretty, if absent minded. Her blonde curls had framed her face quite nicely, though the rest of her was just as beautiful. He pushed his thoughts of the girl aside, too excited by the thought that he'd actually gotten his hands on the envelope to think much about anything else.

His mom had taken the last one, the one that had arrived the last weekend in the mail. Why she wouldn't let them have one, he didn't know. But, that didn't really matter now. He'd gotten one. They could go, no matter what his mom wanted.

He smiled as he opened the door, waving to one of the neighborhood kids as he entered his family's assigned living quarters. The house wasn't a particularly large one. It only had two floors above ground, and one bellow. It was average for a pair of clearance level W5 scientists and their children. Or, that's what he suspected. There wasn't actually any way to check if that was accurate or not.

"Hey, Danny-boy! How's it going?" his dad boomed as Danny entered the kitchen. Jack Fenton was a large man, built on the scale of houses and small office buildings. Both vertically and horizontally. He looked vaguely like Danny, though his eyes were a lighter shade of blue and his hair had tinges of grey near the edges. He didn't know, but Danny nursed a secret hope that his mother's genes would be enough to counteract that sheer mass and addiction to fudge. So far, it had worked.

"Hey dad. Do you know where Jazz and Dani are?" It was unfortunately not an odd question, considering that the three of them hadn't been allowed to apply to the academy like their other friends from school had. They were the basically the only teens they knew who hadn't gotten some form of specialized education – whether that was weapons specialist, tactics, mathematics, philosophy… the list went on.

"They're upstairs I think… why?" his father gave him an odd look, as if he could sense his son's excitement.

Danny shrugged, trying to seem convincing. "I was wondering if they were as board as I am."

His father shrugged. "Yeah, they haven't been out of their rooms at all today. See if you can get them to make an appearance okay?"

Danny nodded and hurried out of the kitchen. His father wasn't as passively observant of his surroundings as his mom. But, he had the odd talent of focusing on something to the exclusion of all else. If he was interested in something, he would notice everything about it. The trait could be useful if he or Danielle were trying to sneak around, but it was extremely inconvenient at other times – like when they had to collect him for dinner and he was in the lab for example. That was a nightmarish task.

Danny headed up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time in his enthusiasm. The upstairs floor was smaller than the main living area of the house. It was a simple hallway with five rooms of varying size. Four were sleeping areas with the standard issue beds and storage space. The last room was a bathroom – once again with the standard facilities already installed.

Danny frowned as his gaze found the doors on the right of the hallway. One was simple and plane with no decorations taped to it other than a sign that said "Danielle's room. Keep out." The other door had pictures of books and several certificates taped to it, making it look almost gaudy in comparison.

Danny knocked on the first door, grinning to himself as he heard the sudden clatter of movement beyond. A few moments later, the door opened and Danielle poked her head out. her black bangs were hanging in her eyes, even though most of her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She shot him a smirk as she noticed the grin plastered on his face "Hey, what's up?"

Danny glanced around for a moment, making sure that neither of their parents were in hearing range. "Jazz's room, two minutes."

She raised an eyebrow. "What's with the secret agent act?"

Danny shook his head. "It's important."

Danielle gave him _the look. _"Oh? And what are we doing in Jazz's room?"

Danny's grin widened. "You'll have to come and see for yourself if you really want to know."

Danielle's smirk widened. "Well, I would, but I'm not exactly decent at the moment… unless that's what we're doing?" She barely suppressed a fit of giggles as Danny's face abruptly became brick red with embarrassment. In fact, the image reminded her of a time when… but she wasn't supposed to know about that kind of stuff.

Once Danny had regained his composure he managed to form a passable sentence. "N-no, no-not that. Something e-else."

She sighed. "Fine. You're no fun. I'll be right out." He really needed to learn how to take a joke. Turning completely red like that wouldn't do him any favors at a party. Not that she'd know anything about what people actually did at those. Their parents had seen to that when they'd taken the invites away and burned them. But, she had snuck out to watch parties from a distance before. And yes, people did plenty of _that_.

Danny sighed as she closed the door. Of the three of them, she would be classified as the most "rebellious" by their parents. But, it was hard not to be at least a little rebellious when they didn't allow you to do anything. They hadn't allowed secondary education, so there was no hope of getting a job with the GIW higher than clearance level W10. Sure, they could join the Manson's military forces, but they would be foot soldiers for the entirety of their careers. There would be no hope of becoming a pilot, much less obtaining a Knight's status.

Danny knocked on the second door. There was a moment of silence before he heard a "Come in" from the room beyond.

He opened the door and stepped into the room. The room was simple. There was a bookshelf against one wall, completely filled with books. Most of them were large volumes on physics, ecto-physics, mathematics, and other similar subjects. There was a standard sized bed in the middle of the room, occupied by a auburn haired girl absorbed in a book titled "Halfa Theory: Why It's Absurd."

"Hey Danny, what's up?" The auburn haired girl didn't look up from her book as he flopped onto the other side of the bed, being careful not to crush the envelope as he did so. "Mom and dad catch Danielle doing something?"

Danny shook his head. "No… why?"

Jazz shrugged, obviously not too concerned. "I thought I heard yelling a few minutes ago."

Danny shrugged again, this time in confusion. He hadn't heard any yelling. "No idea…"

Before they could continue along that line of conversation, Danielle poked her head around the doorframe. "So, what's this super secret meeting of the teenage minds about anyway?"

Jazz shot Danny a look over her book. "You didn't…?"

Danny smirked. "No… nothing like that."

Jazz relaxed visibly as Danielle gave them a confused stare. "What didn't you do this time?"

Danny rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I sort of kinda blew up one of their inventions last week."

Danielle stared in complete shock and irritation, before exploding. "You jerk! That was you? I'm gonna…! I was in the shower when that thing blew up you ass!"

Danny saw Jazz suppressing a smile, and could have sworn he heard her mutter the word "Karma" under her breath.

He cleared his throat nervously. "It was an accident… besides, I can make it up to you."

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes flashing green as the lights caught them at the right angle. It was a little scary, the color reminding him of the eyes of a ghost that they had been shown in their second year of required education. "How?"

Danny smirked and pulled out the envelope, slapping it down on the bed dramatically as he did so. The envelope was a scarlet, almost the same color as human blood, with golden trim around the edges. There was an old-fashioned wax seal keeping it from opening.

The seal was the Manson Family crest. A simple image of the sun, drawn as a child would, made up the background. A circle, surrounded by eight triangles pointing outward. In the circle were a sword, a rose, and a bar of silver all crossed over each other in a shape like an "X" with an extra line traveling vertically through the center.

Danielle gasped when she saw the envelope, knowing instantly what it was. "Where…? How?" She couldn't find words. Then a thought crossed her mind and her lips spread into a smirk. "Who did you kill to get it?"

Danny stiffened slightly, shooting her a glare. "No one. They girl they had on duty at the post office didn't check the mailing records."

Danielle deflated slightly, looking mildly crestfallen at the fact that her brother hadn't done anything significantly frowned upon to get the invite. "Oh… sneaky."

Jazz gave Danny a steady look. "You do know what happens the moment mom finds this right?"

Danny grinned at her. "Why do you think I waited until the day before the party to get it? And, are you honestly going to tell me that you'll turn this chance down?"

Jazz glared at hem, not saying anything for a moment. The fact that their parents didn't allow them to attend the parties thrown by the Houses of Law was a sticking point for all of them. True, they'd only been deemed old enough to attend after they had turned thirteen. But, it was still frustrating that their parents chose to burn the invites rather than just allow them to go. "Fine, just to keep you out of trouble."

Danielle leaned in and stage-whispered in Danny's ear. "Does she really think we're buying that?"

Danny smirked at Jazz and stage-whispered back, completely aware of their older sister's glare as he did so. "I don't know, you'd think she'd be smart enough to realize it with those test scores of hers."

"Shut up!" Jazz snapped, hurling a pillow at the pair of laughing teens. Her expression changed suddenly, becoming a coolly controlled smile. "Or, I'll tell mom what you did last weekend Dani."

Danny gave her a puzzled look, but noticed his twin sister go a little green at the threat. He puzzled over what she could have possibly done to get such a reaction, but eventually decided it was probably best he didn't know. "You wouldn't."

Jazz shrugged, still smiling coolly at them. "Try me."

Danielle nodded slowly before curling up on the bed next to Danny. "So, how we gonna do this? I mean, we can't show up to a party like that dressed like _this._" She indicated their current clothing. It was decidedly not what one would wear to any significant function, much less a party thrown by one of the Houses of Law. "And, what level of invitation is it anyway?"

Danny sighed, grabbing the envelope as Jazz got up and closed the door. It was best to be careful, even if they weren't necessarily doing anything illegal. Their parents wouldn't appreciate it if they found out that they'd disobeyed a longstanding rule. It wouldn't be unexpected, but the results wouldn't be pleasant if they found out.

By the time she was back in her seat on the bed, he had torn the envelope away and was scanning the invitation. It was written in a looping, curly font that was obviously meant to look hand-written. The fact that the lettering was gold however, betrayed the fact that it had been printed from a database not two hours earlier.

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Fenton,_

_Hello. You are invited to attend the monthly Manson ball on October 4. Please remember that proper clothing is required, enclosed are five Trade Chips to allow you to obtain such clothing for you and your charges._

_You will be attending as your clearance would normally allow. Your table is Table 64, seats 2-4(for your charges) and Table 21, seats 5 and 6(for you). Your charges will be sitting with _others _of their age group._

_Thank you for attending,_

_Pamela and Jeremy Manson_

_- Heads of Event Planning of the Manson Family -_

Danny sighed as he set the letter down. "So, I suppose we should get planning if we're gonna do this?"

The other two nodded in ascent.

**The Academy, Amity Park:**

The steps leading up to the entrance of the main building were rough-hewn things. They were jagged and straight-edged, worn from decades of almost daily use. The smoothness of the flat surfaces provided an excellent place to sit and study. The steps were familiar and usually played host to at least two or three students at any given time. The noise would have usually bugged him, but today there was no one in sight.

There had been a few other students earlier, but they'd taken a look at what he was doing and practically fallen over themselves in their attempt to flee. The irony was that, in this instance, it wasn't even illegal. Usually, hacking into a secured government database would be highly questionable, and land one in a silver-lined detention cell for the rest of their lives. But, in this particular case, Tucker Foley would be able to get off free of any charges.

It was probably a bad idea to hack into the GIW's "Secured" files devision. But, the class assignment had been blindingly clear: Hack into any website or database and plant a video of yourself saying hello and explaining the assignment to the person who's website you'd hacked. He'd just decided to pick one of the most secured databases Humanity had to offer.

Why? Because it was a challenge. Anything less would be – to be honest – fairly boring. He'd already hacked two sites today, completing the assignment twice, and emailing the results to his Computer Sciences professor. He'd also imbedded the videos with a code that would prevent their deletion for the next fourty-eight hours.

Tucker frowned as a warning appeared on the screen of his laptop. A few key strokes later, it was gone, replaced by another – much less threatening – window. His fingers tapped out several commands as he stared at the screen. His computer beeped as he made it past the third firewall.

He grinned to himself, already seeing the final result. The most secured database in the world, cracked by a kid who wasn't even old enough to drive a Specter Speeder. The news would go insane.

He didn't know why he was so good with technology. No one really did. He just was. It was like that old science fiction show with that spaceship's mechanic. The technology just spoke to him. It just told him what to do. Not literally, obviously. But, he just seemed to _know _what he was supposed to do the instant he brushed against it.

It had gotten him in trouble before, when his instructors had seen him fix issues that they couldn't figure out. Some even called it unnatural, though not to his face. That would be reason enough for him to call them out… not that he would. Such insults were serious business – given the Ghost War.

"Only one-hundred-and-ten more to go" he muttered as he slipped around the fourth firewall. How he knew that, he wasn't sure. But it made sense. It sounded accurate. And, like always, he just _knew_.

He glanced down at the phone sitting next to him as it started vibrating, examining the caller ID before picking up. "Hey dad, what's up?"

The voice on the other end was cheerful, as always. Though, Tucker noted, today his father seemed especially upbeat. "Well, I've been given a new assignment."

Tucker's eyebrows lifted of their own accord. A new assignment generally meant a larger pay check for his father. Being a law enforcer, one rarely received new assignments unless they were moving up. Or, if staff was desperately short at some other location. "Really? Where?"

He could almost hear his father's smile on the other end of the phone. It was good to hear his father smiling, ever since Tucker's grandmother had passed on a month earlier, spirits had been low in the Foley residence. "Head of security for the upcoming Manson ball."

Tucker's eyes widened. Normally, they wouldn't be involved in such an event at all, being only classification R7 citizens. But… if his father were given such a posting… his mind flew through the possibilities as he slipped past three more firewalls. "Does that mean…?" He was hesitant to ask.

The answer came as an almost shout that made him flinch back, dropping the phone in the process. "Yes! We are allowed to attend! They even assigned us tables!"

Tucker grinned as his father's enthusiasm carried over the phone. It was a huge deal. Such a promotion could lead to great things for their family. If his father did well, it could even mean a permanent assignment to the Manson house's personal military forces. His father could become an officer if he was lucky, or even a Knight if things went to phenomenally well. That was unlikely, but not unheard of. There were records of such incidents occurring. "That's great dad. What table is…"

He trailed off as his laptop started beeping wildly. He frowned at the screen, seeing a window that hadn't been there a moment ago. A few key strokes, and it was… still there. Tucker grimaced and shifted his full concentration to the laptop. A few more commands and the window was gone.

Tucker sighed in relief, passing through the eighteenth firewall without further issue. "Sorry, what were we talking about again?"

There was an audible sigh from the other end of the phone. "Tucker, are you on your computer?" It wasn't really a question, though it was phrased like one. Tucker was always on his computer. No exceptions had been recorded other than on those rare occasions when it ran out of power, or he was required to do something that did not involve computers. He even ate his meals while on his computer, despite the suggestion to do otherwise made by almost every individual he knew.

"yeah" Tucker said absently as he slipped past the twenty-sixth layer of protection that the GIW had put into place around their secured documents. Honestly, they could have done a better job. The vast majority of the firewalls were simple to figure out. Or, it was more that they were all similar in function and therefore, once one figured one of them out, the others were simple to get around.

There was another audible sigh from the other end of the phone. "Honestly, Tucker you shouldn't be –"

"- on my computer so much?" Tucker cut his father off, not wanting to hear the semi-daily speech about screen time for the forth time that week. "I've been told that somewhere."

There was a long pause before his father spoke again. When he did, he sounded resigned, and Tucker felt a twinge of guilt. "Well… Your mother will pick up your clothing for the event later today. Your seat is at Table 62, seat number 6."

Tucker nodded to himself as he slipped past the eighty-forth layer of protection. They were really making it too easy. Each layer was too similar to the last to be of much use if someone – like him – was even mildly intent on slipping inside their security. They should be thankful that he was just some academy student, and not an overshadowed ghost puppet.

"Anything else? I'm kind of in the middle of an assignment at the moment" Tucker said, glancing down at the screen again, banishing another warning window as it popped up. It wasn't really even all that hard, which was starting to annoy him. He'd gone through ninety-five firewalls in just over four hours, and most of that time had been figuring out how to get past the first one. Perhaps their defense strategy was a vane hope that they'd be able to catch the person digging through their files and send a virus to decimate their computer?

There was another sigh from the other end of the line. That seemed too common recently. It was like the talk about too much screen tome. It happened, and it was over until the next time. "Not really… Have a good day son."

Tucker nodded absently, momentarily forgetting that his father couldn't see him as he cracked the last layer of protection that the GIW had put in place. "Okay, by dad."

**House Sanchez Complex, Somewhere in Central America:**

Star stood calmly in the corner of the room, waiting for instructions. It wasn't that she liked taking orders, or even the Sanchez family in general. But, her training had so instilled into her a sense of decorum and what was proper, that she did so without thinking abut or questioning it. It was her job. She did it. In return, she was given free meals, housing, and a generous stipend equal to that of a clearance W7 family.

Though, she had to admit – if only to herself – that sometimes it just wasn't worth it. Most would kill to have her duties, until they actually got them. Personal handmaiden to Lady Paulina Sanchez, heiress of the Second House of Law, and second in line for the Second Seat of Law in the senate.

Outwardly, to the public, Paulina Sanchez was the intelligent, well educated, beautiful, young, fashionable woman who would one day ascend to the Second Seat of Law in the Republic Senate. She would lead with grace and wisdom, like all who held such an honored position in the Republic were expected to do.

But, in private, behind locked doors… she was the thing that haunted Star's nightmares with a relentless ferocity that she hated more than anything else in the world. The girl was not the erudite and almost goddess-like young woman whom she was believed to be. She skipped most of her lessons, preferring to spend most of her time flirting with young men and engaging in activities that were strictly forbidden by laws decades – or even centuries – old. She thought more of clothes than her studies and duties to the Republic, leaving Star to cover for her whenever possible. And, that was on most days when she wasn't invited to some ball or gala of minor or major import.

Some behaviors Star would be okay with. They weren't illegal, and were occasionally quite enjoyable. Personally, she theorized that they were the whole purpose behind the events hosted by the Houses of Law. She'd just not wish to do them with that… _girl_ and her _friends_. She would rather find someone who she would actually want to do those thing with.

No, she was anything but the young socialite aristocrat that the media would have one believe. And, Star hated her for it. She had grown up being taught that one must always know their place, serve to the best of their abilities, and do as the masters required – whatever they required. That – sadly – was the life of a classification R9 citizen.

Having grown up, being fed all of this information about one's place in the world, she had come to the unfortunately inaccurate conclusion that all would be taught the same amount of credence for tradition and law. She had thought that the Houses of Law would teach their members to fulfill their duties and take pride in it.

Then, she'd been given the task of Personal Handmaiden to Paulina Sanchez and relocated to the Sanchez House's main complex – far from her original family. There weren't words to convey the dismay she had felt at learning that the girl was not the competent and wonderful young woman that she'd been lead to believe.

Star scratched at her arm, annoyed by the constant itching that never seemed to go away no matter what she did. She'd asked several times to have a medical specialist examine it, but every medical specialist told her the same thing. "It was nothing" or "It was a minor skin condition." But, it was still annoying.

"You should really wear something more fashionable Star. I mean, guys would notice you more if you did. Wouldn't that be something you wanted?" Paulina stated from the other side of the room. She was examining her hair in the mirror, making sure that she looked as beautiful as possible for the upcoming ball being hosted by the Manson family.

"Yes my lady…" Star said meekly. It was her place to serve and obey. But, she would not wear some of the ridiculous things that her mistress thought practical. There was a reason for the lack of dresses in most circumstances. Practicality and comfort won out against fashion in the collective mind of humanity. Dresses were cumbersome, and hard to move in. They made you a target for any of Pariah's soldiers. Normal pants and a shirt were far less likely to get you killed.

The other girl, though, was no longer paying attention to her "unfashionable" handmaiden. She was once again staring at herself in the large, freshly polished mirror. Star was of two minds about this. First, Paulina spent so much time staring at herself that she could probably take the place of Narsisis in the ancient Greek myths with no one the wiser. Second, it filled her with a giddy sort of happiness, for the singular reason that the young woman was no longer paying attention to her. That, at least in Star's opinion, was a good thing.

Star fiddled with her long, golden-blonde hair as she awaited more orders. They weren't requests, never that. That would imply that Paulina had a single bone in her body devoted to someone else's pleasure, and not just hers. They were definitely orders, even if they were phrased in a way more appropriate to the girl's station.

"Tomorrow night's ball is an important night for me Star. Lord Dash is planning to propose to me. I can't have anything screwing that up. So, you won't be attending me tomorrow night. You are free to do as you wish at the ball. Socialize with whomever you wish. Do whatever." Paulina waved a hand dismissively. "Daddy set everything up already. You'll need to talk to him to figure out the details. But, you are still my handmaiden. I can't have you disgracing me at the ball. So, wear something at least party appropriate."

Star suppressed her annoyance at the order. "Yes my lady. Congratulations in regards to Lord Dash. He is quite handsome." Her traditional meek response. Her teachers would be proud, or possibly horrified, by how well their tutelage had set in.

**Manson Family Complex, Amity Park:**

"Oh Sammykins!" The high-pitched and quite shrill voice of Pamela Manson called into the dark room. There was a frustrated groan in response.

Pamela was not amused. The time was already well into the afternoon. The entire house had been awake long since, even Pamela's Uncle Albert – known for his drinking and staying up late – had been roused to the bright morning hours ago.

The fact that her… no, not her daughter. Her _charge_. Yes, that was the right word. The… thing that she'd been charged to keep quiet… was still abed at this hour. The idea seemed ludicrous. At least the GIW's Overseer had allowed them to seat all of the _halfas_ at the same table this year. The table in question, table 62, had been placed well apart from the other tables, though not far enough away to seem suspicious.

She flipped the light switch, turning on the overhead chandelier. Light bathed the small room, revealing a very odd image. The room – unlike most rooms in the Manson household – was colored in dark hues. Blacks, purples, and dark blues all prevailed throughout the space, making Pamela's fake smile slip for a moment. It wasn't proper. One's room should be colored in the colors of one's house, not in… _these_.

Scattered throughout the large sleeping chamber were an odd assortment of potted plants, and other objects that Pamela found distasteful. Among the untidy piles were short skirts that were not decent for a young woman of her… charge's… age to wear. There were CD cases and sketch pads on the floor. In short, the room needed a good cleaning out, and maybe a few purification rituals as well.

"Whadoyouwantmom" the girl slurred through her still half-asleep state as she tried to cover her head with a large pillow.

Pamela suppressed a groan of frustration, settling for shaking her head. "It's mid-afternoon Sammykins. Time to get up and help prepare for the ball tomorrow." There was a part of her that took a distinct pleasure in frustrating the _girl_. What she was, what she represented… it was a symbol of one of the biggest failures her family had ever made. The Phantom Project had been a fool's hope, and they had dumped money into it anyway.

What the GIW had been thinking, she didn't know. It had been a mistake, and that was all there was to it in her opinion.

* * *

**AN: So, anny suggestions as to powers - or anything really - are greatly apreciated. I will not give my word that I will use them. But I will look them over.**


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